


Cute without the 'e'

by DisenchantedHalo (Morgawse)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom Frank Iero, Dubious Consent, Fear Play, Knifeplay, M/M, Restraints, Scarification, Sub Gerard Way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 17:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18103520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgawse/pseuds/DisenchantedHalo
Summary: Comic book nerd Gerard Way can't quite believe his luck when reclusive billionaire Frank Iero not only selects his profile on a BDSM play partner app, but wants to go through with things when he sees greasy-haired, chubby Gerard in person. However, once they are in Frank's 'play room' Gerard begins to have doubts about this being a lucky occurrence, possibly even considering if this is in fact his last day on earth. Is it? Or is Frank simply enjoying some extreme kinks at Gerard's (supposedly consensual) expense?





	Cute without the 'e'

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies. This has been hanging around completed for a while now but I hadn't really felt up to posting it. It was one of those stories that wrote themselves then, as I read it back, I had to ask myself where the heck those ideas had come from! But after a Twitter conversation about con non-con, Vintage sort of Twitter shouted at me to post. ;) So here it is.
> 
> I think that I got all the tags right for this, but honestly I don't think that this lines up well with either safe sane consensual or risk aware consensual kink. You have been warned.
> 
> On a lighter note, I was on a Taking Back Sunday nostalgia kick when I gave this a working title. Then of course they announced the 20-year tour and FIATV is supporting on some dates (unfortunately not my city - but hey), so I stuck with it because it seemed to work so well with how the story unfolds. 
> 
> I think that I managed to capture all the typos and other errors. Apologies if any squeaked through.

“Needles scare you - as in you have a phobia, huh?” Frank’s voice was low and guttural.

Gerard did not attempt to answer, physically or verbally. His brain was in overwhelm. He could not quite believe it; he was really here with THE Frank Iero. Frank Iero, one of the youngest self-made billionaires ever. There in front of him, was Frank Iero, in all his tattooed glory. A man rumoured to have become a recluse to avoid all the unwanted attention. Because if you stopped to think about it, he was rich, good-looking and single. Frank would have made an amazing target for every gold-digger out there. Gerard guessed that if both of those thoughts were true, then Frank must get lonely. So, it was highly probable that Frank would eventually crave some kind of physical human companionship. Of course, Frank could probably have any hooker or escort he chose to fulfil his physical needs. However, although he had never had the spare funds or inclination to pay for sex, Gerard thought that it would be unfulfilling and soulless. Which kind of explained why Frank had a profile which gave no clue to his real identity as the self-made New Jersey billionaire. 

The thought that Frank had not just turned and walked away when he saw Gerard at their agreed meeting point earlier in the evening, made Gerard almost giddy with delight. Almost. The fly in the ointment? The creeping realisation that Frank’s profile had been totally factual in one regard. The one that mattered most. Frank was not afraid to dive into the murky depths of BDSM, while Gerard had hardly even dipped his toe in the water. Maybe having watched some porn, read some stories and studied (well his version of study) BDSM submissive ‘how to’ sites online was not sufficient to be doing a scene with Frank. Apparently, unless Frank just did not give a toss, Gerard’s communication with him had given Frank the impression that Gerard knew what he liked, what his hard and soft limits were. That is to say, Gerard might have come across as someone who could distinguish between a kink that should only be played out in fantasy land versus one that he would wish to, or had experienced, in real life.

“So, I’m not going to find any tattoos hidden away underneath that shirt, then? Shame. If you’re as pale underneath as you face suggests, then the contrast against your skin would have been delectable, I’m sure.”

Frank’s voice held a distinctly primal edge to it. A tone that had Gerard’s brain kicking into fight, flight, or freeze mode. As a congenital coward who was extremely clumsy, coupled with a lingering intrigue as to ‘why him’, the only route available to Gerard, without making a fool of himself, was freeze. So, he stayed put. His mind, however, was a different thing. Despite the elation of being here, Gerard’s brain was trying to figure out how it happened to be him whom Frank had picked when perhaps it should have been voicing concerns that fear and severe pain might not be turn-ons. Instead, it was in a loop ruminating on why even if Frank was lonely, even if Frank was wary that most of the people who were fawning over him only wanted him for his money and fame, why choose Gerard as a companion for the night? An unwashed, greasy-haired, overweight comic-book nerd who struggled to do anything more with his life than pay rent on time by working two jobs while having all his comic book pitches rejected.

Gerard snapped out of his thoughts. He had been lost in a heady mix of unease, inquisitiveness, and being star-struck. In his preoccupied state, Gerard had not realised that they had moved to a completely different part of Frank’s mansion and that he was now sitting on the edge of a bed, his shirt undone, as Frank traced fingers over his chest and down to the pudge that hung over the waistband of his pants.

What was that purring sound in his ears? Oh my god – that was him. He was purring at Frank’s touch. Purring, like an attention deprived kitten. To be fair, attention deprived was an accurate description, but the cat-like noises were disconcerting. Frank’s touch though…Gerard was not sure he had the vocabulary to describe the way it made him feel, hence the ridiculous rumblings coming from his chest.

In contrast to Gerard’s internal misgivings, Frank either had not heard or was not in the least bit phased by Gerard’s strange noises. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Most definitely a shame that there is nothing to contrast with the alabaster quality of your torso. Perhaps,” Frank leaned in so close that Gerard could feel Frank’s hot breath on his neck as he whispered, “someone needs to rectify that situation.”

An involuntary shudder ran through Gerard’s body. Why did the sound of Frank’s voice go straight to his dick?

“A drink before we get started?” Although phrased as a question, Gerard knew Frank was not expecting an answer. He also knew that he ought to tell him that he did not drink. He should explain that he was, to add to his already impressive credentials as a loser, a recovering alcoholic with a habit of relapsing every time life threatened to kick him in the balls. As Frank turned away, Gerard hastily drew his shirt back across himself covering up the repulsive sight of the folds where a taught toned stomach should be and the chest that drooped just enough to hint that a fetching pair of man boobs would appear if he gained even one or two pounds extra. Compared to what he expected to see under Frank’s shirt it was mortifying.

Moments later, Frank pressed a tumbler with a generous volume of a familiar clear liquid into Gerard’s hand before pulling Gerard’s shirt open again.

“Now, why would a beautiful creature like you want to hide away like that?”

This time it felt like an explanation was required. One little gulp of vodka would not hurt, would it?

“There’s nothing beautiful about me. I’m a fat, ugly, worthless loser. What’s there not to hide away?” Why did he just unload all of that at Frank? It was true but so, so personal. Gerard would hesitate to be so open with a therapist, and yet he had spilled his guts to Frank as though Frank’s words unlocked the flow of Gerard’s inner insecurities removing the dam of shame that usually kept them locked up in the deepest recesses of his mind.

“Pity you see yourself like that. It’s not true, you know?” The words sounded empathetic, but there was no softness or compassion attached to them. Frank spoke the words like they were a matter of fact, not an opinion or a sop to make Gerard feel better.

Gerard looked down to find that his glass had been refilled. Mechanically, he lifted it to his lips again, draining the burning liquid in one go. Gazing up at the ceiling, he let the warmth of the alcohol flood his insides, as he played with the glass. Magically, when his eyes lowered back to the glass, there was another shot. He threw that back in one too.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” Frank relieved Gerard of the empty tumbler.

Gerard fiddled with his hands. Holding the glass had given him something to do, something to focus on and stop his nervous fidgeting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a voice saying that this was one of the dumbest things he had ever done. He wanted to explore yes because let’s be honest, internet porn and your own hand can only take you so far. But something was urging him to drag up some courage and get the hell out of there. 

As handsome and alluring as Frank was, there was also something too dangerous about him for Gerard to stay, if he had any common sense. That phobia clarification had him bothered. Why, oh why had he not been more specific on his profile about his lack of experience? Equally as important, why had he not listed almost everything that could be considered edge or fear play in his hard limits? However, he wanted to stay. He needed to find out where this was going. It could have been the vodka talking, but no-one had ever made him feel the way Frank had made him feel when Frank touched him; when Frank used that animalistic tone of voice and commanding turn of phrase. So, he sat and waited, nervously, for Frank to make the next move.

“Why don’t you strip for me?” Once again, a demand not a request. “I want to see all of you.”

Gerard felt the rush of blood to his face. He still did not believe that he was here with Frank Iero. He had to be dreaming. Someone like Frank would never want to see his unsightly chub.

“Gerard, I asked you to undress. Now, please get on with it.”

Gerard went to stand up, but found himself unsteady on his feet, swaying side to side.

“Hmm. Here, let me help you. Lean on me for a second.” Frank undid Gerard’s belt, the button of his pants, and then unzipped them, pushing them down till they pooled around his ankles. “Step out of them.”

There he was, dressed only in his underwear, exposed to the scrutiny of the Italian god before him. His mind was becoming fuzzy; the room was blurry. There had not been much to focus on anyway, it was white, clinical almost, just the bed with its dark grey linen and a couple of doors, which he had assumed were for the closet and the en-suite. But now, even the whitewashed walls appeared hazy.

The next thing Gerard knew, he was lying on the bed in an uncomfortable position, his hands tied together and stretched above his head, his ankles bound with something rough that scratched at them, pulled as far apart as his limited flexibility would allow. He noticed that his boxers had been removed. He gulped. That warning to run had been correct. Too late now, he was at Frank’s mercy. What had he got himself into? 

“Fr…Fr…Frank?” No reply.

“Frank!” Still nothing.

“Hey, can you let me out of this? I wasn’t entirely honest with you. I’ve never done any of this kinky shit before. This is kinda freaking me out!” No sound, no movement, no response.

How Gerard wished he had paid more attention to re-runs of MacGyver! He would know how to get himself out of this misfortune. Gerard Way, however, did not. He stopped straining against his bonds. If he did that much more, he’d likely dislocate his shoulder or some other stupid thing. He did the only thing he could do, lie there and wait while trying not to panic or imagine a gruesome death at the hands of Frank, the cannibalistic serial killer. Excellent, now he had had that thought his overactive imagination was going to have fun with it!

Gerard was not entirely sure how long he had been lying there when he heard a door shut and someone stride across the room. He was about to raise his head to see who, he guessed it was Frank, had come into the room, when something whistled past him followed by a thud.

“Holy fuck! Are…are…are you going to kill me?” There embedded in the headboard was a knife. A scary looking one. Not your run of the mill knife for chopping vegetables. No. This thing seemed like it was meant for hunting, which suggested that he was the prey.

“Kill you, Gerard? By no means. I merely want to have a little fun. That's still ok with you, yes?”

“Uh, ok.”

Uh ok – honestly? Was that the best that he could come up with? Yes, that yellow streak in him was longer than…well right now he could not think of anything except the glint of steel to the right of his head, and that there might be something to the rumour that Frank had ties to the Mafia, which was how he had acquired his wealth. I mean, Gerard thought, who else but someone involved in that kind of stuff could throw a knife with such precision? Carnival knife throwers? Mercenaries? Super-evil villains? Vampires with their inhuman abilities…

“Great. I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then”.

Hell no. Oh crap, that was not out loud. It was supposed to have been. It appeared, his voice had stopped working. Was there something he was forgetting? Something that they had discussed both online and at the park? Something that could…

There was a snap beside him. Turning his head, he saw Frank, naked from the waist up except for a pair of surgical gloves.

Ok, so maybe that ‘Hell No’ would have been a bit hasty. Gerard’s mouth turned instantly from bone dry to watering at the sight of Frank beside him. Jeez, all those tattoos. The colours, the designs, the way they were put together made Frank’s body a piece of art. Although there was no theme tying them together, each one screamed that it had a deep meaning to Frank. A reminder of each of his victims? But Frank had denied wanting to kill him. Gerard was not entirely sure he believed that. Oh well, it might not be such a bad way to go, besides the excruciating pain, then he would be one of those images permanently displayed on Frank’s skin.

“Please don’t struggle or fight me, Gerard.” Frank picked up something that looked like a horse’s bit from a bedside table that Gerard would have sworn had not been there when he had first come into the bedroom.

“I will make this as pleasurable for you as possible.” Frank placed his hand which was not holding the bit on Gerard’s head. His touch was soothing. It did not assuage the terror that was no doubt etched all over his face, but Gerard could not help himself but arch upwards into the caress. “Biting down on this will help.”

No, it fucking will not. Not if you are going to slice me open or flay me alive. Gerard wanted to say that out loud, but something stopped him. He had, however, opened his mouth and before he could close it again, he felt the bit between his teeth then Frank raising his head to secure it on him.

Gerard could smell steel. The metallic scent filled his nostrils. The aroma was so strong that he could even taste it, the saliva welled up even more in his mouth so much so that he began drooling around the bit. He wondered just how pathetic a sight he made, his terrified form stretched out on the bed, every physical flaw that he possessed on display, his cowardice and distress etched on his face as he dribbled down his chin. There in front of his face was the knife which Frank had removed from the headboard. Alongside it was something else; it couldn’t be? But it was. Frank was also holding a scalpel.

“You can choose which one we start with. I always find that they both make such intriguing patterns that I can’t choose between them. So, I’m afraid it will have to be both. You can nod to whichever you prefer.”

Wake up, Gerard! This had to be another one of his nightmares. Only, it felt too real and why would he have a nightmare about Frank? An erotic dream, sure, but this?

“I’m waiting!”

Hobson's choice. But dream or not he had to decide. Holding his breath in anticipation of the agony to come, he nodded to the knife. The scalpel was too close to a needle for comfort. Huh, wrong choice of word, Gerard. There was not likely to be much comfort in his immediate future - if he had a future that was.

Frank pressed a plastic object into Gerard’s right hand, making it squeak as he did so. “As you can’t talk, this replaces the word we agreed, ok? Squeak it or drop it and I’ll stop.”

Then it began. At first, it did not feel so bad, the cold steel drawn against his flesh. Frank applied almost no pressure to the blade as he used it to trace a line down the centre of Gerard’s chest, before running it slowly from hip to hip.

Gerard dared to hope that this was it. He could cope with this. It fucked with his mind, sure, but the psychological pain was better than physical pain, even with his fanciful imagination. Maybe he could learn to see the sensuality in this? Could he find some way in which this turned him on, knowing that this was Frank Iero doing this to him? Frank was certainly something to cause a rush of blood to his dick, so was it really so far out of the realms of possibility that Frank tying him up and running knives over his body….

Shit. Fuck. Motherfucker. The searing pain fired through every nerve. This was not a light surface level scratch. No way. There it was again, this time the starting point was his left inner thigh. A matching pair.

Gerard tightened his grip on the leather rod between his teeth. He could feel the tears start to prick his eyes.

“You’re doing good, Gerard. Don’t hold your breath; it will make it feel worse than it is.” Once more, Gerard nuzzled up into Frank’s hand, as Frank gently stroked his head.

Another cut, more pain. He could sense the blood leaking down the inside of his thighs. He assumed it was blood. The only other option was that he had pissed himself in fear. Dear lord, let it be blood! As ridiculous as that thought was, preferring blood trickling down his legs to urine, Gerard hated the idea of embarrassing himself in front of Frank.

“Please, Gerard. Don’t fight this. Let yourself go with it. Allow yourself to feel every scratch, every cut, every incision fully. I promise you when this is done; you will be begging me for more.” There were more scratches on his inner thigh, right up inside, the back of the blade brushing against his balls. He had no idea, how long this had been going on, all he knew was that he had a few cuts, many scratches and that the knife was a cold as ever. Use did not seem to be warming it up, or was that the ice-cold trepidation that refused to leave his body that this was his last day?

What was that new sensation. Holy mother of a ….was that Frank’s tongue? Gerard craned his neck to see that, yes indeed, that was Frank’s tongue. Frank had climbed up on the bed between Gerard’s legs and was now lapping at the rivulets of blood seeping from the cuts on his thighs. Now, something about what Frank had said was starting to click. He could spend forever with Frank there, kissing, licking and nipping at his thighs. The pain was not dulled by Frank’s mouth. But there was something about that intimate action that transformed it, made it sensual.

“See, isn’t that starting to feel good?” Frank winked as he looked up at Gerard. “You don’t have to answer, I can see for myself.” Frank laughed.

That sound. It was music to Gerard’s ears. The warmth, the tenderness in Frank’s voice since Gerard had been immobilised was such a change from the intimidating timbre Frank’s voice had previously carried.

Gerard’s hips bucked. It was an involuntary movement. But what else could he do? Frank’s hand was now wrapped around the base of his cock, applying exactly the right amount of pressure to cause it to spring from its semi-dormant state, straight to attention.

“Stay still, Gerard,” Frank cautioned, his hand still encircling Gerard’s cock. “I don’t want to hurt you by accident.”

The knife now lay on Gerard’s stomach. If his mental image was correct, he didn’t dare try to move his head to see; it was no distance at all from the tip of his cock. One wrong move and it could slide down with consequences he would rather not think about.

How in hell was he supposed to do that though? Frank now had a rhythm going, stroking him from base to tip, he paused once or twice to pass his, now bare, finger over Gerard’s slit so he could spread the pre-cum down his length.

Gerard’s stomach was still roiling with fear, but there was also a heat building in his crotch, taking him on the familiar journey towards orgasm. That ride usually involved so much movement; he had no idea how would comply with Frank’s warning. He did the only thing he could do. He clamped down so hard on the bit; he wondered if it was possible for him to crack a tooth on it.

Then, just as suddenly as Frank had begun, he stopped. Gerard felt the knife lift away from his stomach, and the bed shift as Frank climbed off. He knew he had been breathing way too shallow. He was too afraid of the blade to risk the rise and fall of his belly with his breath. His body was crying out for oxygen and relieved to be able to move his chest and stomach freely, Gerard began to take the deepest breaths he could manage with something wedged between his teeth.

“So good for me Gerard. It’s ok. I’ll let you regroup for a few while I clean up this knife.” Frank’s footsteps retreated away from the bed.

Gerard was left, staring at the ceiling, confused, turned on, frustrated and conflicted about whether he was just desperate for the relief Frank had denied him, or whether he was craving some more pain. Unless Frank had been bullshitting him, there had to be more pain in Gerard’s future, because Frank had not yet used the scalpel.

Damn his memory, could he have not merely forgotten Frank’s words?

Gerard did not have long to contemplate whether knowing that more was still to come could make the experience worse than having the whole thing unexpectedly thrust upon you. Frank was soon back at his side, brushing a few stray strands of Gerard’s greasy hair out of his eyes.

“I want to see every expression that passes over that beautiful face. I want to catch every emotion that those dazzling hazel eyes portray,” Frank explained.

At the very edge of his line of sight, Gerard’s latest fears were confirmed. He caught a glimpse of the scalpel out of the corner of his eye. His body pulsated with a mixture of terror, anticipation, curiosity and, he had to admit it, desire.

The more he tried to tell himself that it would not help his cause to think about what the difference between the scalpel and the knife might be, the more those thoughts flooded his mind. The cuts Frank had made with the knife had seemed to tear through his flesh, almost jagged in nature even though the edge of the knife was not serrated. It was not a delicate tool – one more suited to slashing and hacking than any dextrous work. The scalpel on the other hand. Well, by its very nature was supposed to be wielded by the skilled hands of a surgeon. Would Frank have that skill?

“Remember Gerard, breathe. Don’t hold your breath. Try to relax into this. It will be better for the two of us.”

The psycho expected him to relax? When he had him splayed out like this? When his legs were throbbing in pain and already covered in blood from the gashes on his thighs?

“I need you to be completely still. Can you do that for me?”

Gerard wanted to show he would, but his body felt paralysed as the scalpel came more sharply into focus. Whether Frank had the skill or not, Gerard would soon experience, but it was clear that he was indeed going to attempt something that would require adept handling of the scalpel and Gerard to remain motionless.

“Please, Gerard. I know that this is all new to you. I have no desire to inflict any unnecessary pain. I also will only have one shot at this. I must get it right first time.” Frank made sure that was right in the centre of Gerard’s vision. “You know what to do if you want out, don’t you? Blink twice for me if you don’t feel able to nod your head.”

A petrified Gerard blinked twice. The squeaky toy in his hand had long since been forgotten as a route out of his predicament, so he really could not have told you what Frank was referring to. In a somewhat puzzling way, he was eager to get whatever it was Frank intended on doing to him with the scalpel over and done with. He still had his lingering doubts about getting out of this alive, but his chances could only be higher if he did as Frank asked.

That was when it started again, the agonising pain of carbon steel against yielding flesh. Oh, how Gerard wanted to do exactly as Frank commanded, stay still and relax. His body, however, had other ideas. The involuntary reflex to the pain was the same as it had been before. Gerard held his breath. It felt as if every muscle in his body stiffened in the vain hope that by so doing it would protect him from the torment to which his chest was being subjected.

The creative in him was fascinated to know what it was that Frank could not mess up. Was there some marking, some word, some symbol that Frank wanted to carve into him? Or was this some freeform design thought up on the spur of the moment? He longed to be able to speak. He wanted to question Frank on it. Yes, he knew that would cause a rise and fall in his chest, far more so than breathing alone, but he had the bizarre idea that if he had been able to talk, that would have kept his mind active and not give it the space to dwell on how the scalpel slicing through his skin felt.

Once more he could feel the droplets of blood as they leaked from the incisions. This time he knew it was blood. An unbidden thought popped into his head. Would Frank lap at these streams as he had the ones on Gerard’s legs? He hoped so. If he did, then Frank might also lavish the attention of his skilled mouth on Gerard’s nipples. Gerard was a patsy for anyone who would pay attention to them. He loved it when a hook-up would lick them, suck them, tease them with featherlight touches, or rub them between their fingertips.

It was as if Frank was psychic. He leant over the bed and began to swirl his tongue over the raw wound he was part way through creating, then over and around Gerard’s nipple. Gerard felt his cock spring back to life. The electricity was rising in his groin again. He suddenly found himself able to breathe, instead of holding it in with fear, because the sensations Frank’s tongue was creating, had Gerard gasping for breath.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it? I can see what I’m doing again, and you, well it seems you’re quite the needy little thing when it comes to nipple play, aren’t you? I’ll keep that in mind.” Frank had straightened up again, before standing back slightly to admire his handiwork. He hummed in approval, nodding as he muttered, “not bad, even if I do say, so myself. Ok, Frank! Let’s finish this thing off.”

Letters. It had to be letters. Gerard tried to follow the direction of the cuts. He wanted to identify the letters. Could a game of hangman direct his attention away from the pain? What word was Frank carving into his chest? How could this agony be so sensual? But it was. 

Ok, Gerard, think about what word is now going to be permanently etched onto your chest not what’s happening with your dick. Ok maybe both, because it was throbbing. It ached. But he doubted that he could come, not even with Frank’s hot, talented mouth around it. He felt like he had gone beyond that point. Too stimulated, too fascinated and too scared all at once. 

“All done!” Frank exclaimed, breaking Gerard’s train of thought.

Gerard gathered together what was left of his wits. He pulled what he hoped was a puzzled or questioning face as he craned his neck towards his chest. Would Frank get the message and tell him what he had carved?

“It says HOPE, Gerard. Something I think you could do with, huh? We have a matching pair now. Of course, my chest piece covers mine, but one day, when we’re better acquainted, I will show you a picture of it.” Frank stroked the side of Gerard’s face, his fingers trailing down his jawline, then his neck till they could linger softly on his shoulder.

Although Frank had been nothing but tender since he had immobilised Gerard, his next move still surprised Gerard. Frank leaned in. His lips hovered over Gerard’s, but of course, with Gerard gagged, he could not kiss them properly.

“I need to leave you here, while I go take care of business. I won’t be gone any longer than I need to.” With that, Frank planted several rapid-fire kisses on Gerard’s forehead then turned on his heel and left the room.

Gerard heard Frank’s moans coming from an adjacent room until a loud drawn out “Fuuuuck” announced Frank’s orgasm. When Frank reappeared at Gerard’s side, he had cleaned up, put his shirt back on and was carrying a first aid kit.

“The worst is over now, Gerard. You were amazing, you never even dropped the squeaky toy! This will sting, but you know I have to.”

Frank was not lying. Gerard wanted to cry out. He really was a wuss. Droplets of the saline solution seeping into the wounds stung like a bitch. A different pain entirely, but if anyone had asked him how comparable it was to the pain from Frank cutting him? Well, he would have had to say that this current discomfort was on par with that. Soon, the deeper cuts were hidden beneath gauze and tape, while the more minor ones were left open to the air with a thin coating of antibacterial cream.

“Let’s get you more comfortable.” Frank set about untying and ungagging Gerard. He gently rubbed over any chafing caused by the restraints, gently massaged the life back into his shoulders, and wiped the drool from his face.

“Thank you,” Gerard whispered, as he struggled to get himself into a seated position against the headboard. To be honest, all he really wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep, but he had no idea of the etiquette of these things. Would sleeping now be considered rude?

“Shift over a bit.” Frank settled himself beside Gerard, draping one arm loosely around his shoulders. Leaning away from Gerard momentarily, he reached back over to the bedside table. “Here drink this and eat these. It will help you feel better.”

Gerard sniffed the liquid. It smelt like apple juice. That did smell good, but what if it or the cookies were drugged like he assumed the vodka had been? Gerard took them from Frank, reasoning that Frank had been nothing but sweet, reassuring and attentive once the session had started and appeared to have got what he wanted from him, so what point would there be in drugging him again? Frank evidently had his kinks and a questionable way of fulfilling them, but clearly, he was not the murderer Gerard’s imagination had depicted him as. 

His wild imagination started to take a back seat. Then it hit him. Oh shit! Frank’s behaviour made sense. He, Gerard Dumbass Way, had given the impression he was up for fear play from the off, except for gunplay. He had stared down the barrel of a gun in real life. Nothing remotely erotic about that in the least. Nothing at all. No wonder Frank had ignored his cries to stop. Now he recalled the significance of the word he was not able to say because he had the bit in his mouth and why Frank had provided the squeaky toy instead. Gerard felt ashamed of his stupidity. No way was he admitting that to Frank.

Gerard acknowledged to himself that both the fear and the pain had been, as Frank had promised, a highly erotic experience. He allowed himself a moment to congratulate himself on ticking ‘see what some of this kinky sex stuff is actually all about’ off his bucket list. Honestly, he might not be averse to agreeing to do something similar or explore more kinks with someone in the future. He doubted Frank would ever ask again.

When Gerard had finished, Frank set the glass back on the table. He pulled Gerard in closer to him. Instinctively, Gerard snuggled into Frank’s warmth, drinking in Frank’s unique scent of sweat, sex and tobacco. Frank inclined his head down so that his lips brushed over Gerard’s forehead.

“It’s ok, Gerard. You can sleep now. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Gerard sighed contentedly, grateful that Frank was holding him, for now at least.

“You know, if you would like. We can do that again sometime when you’ve healed properly. Maybe try some other things out?”

“I’d like that,” Gerard mumbled as sleep took over. He was looking forward to it already.

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it. Yeah I know......
> 
> Now for the PSA: Remember sweeties that both Frank and Gerard were idiots in this piece. It worked out ok, but more by luck than judgment! Always be wholly open and honest about experience, limits, safewords and their substitutes if you may not be able to speak. Also always take your time to negotiate scenes fully and ask as many questions as you need to get an understanding of what to expect whether it is the first or thirtieth time you've played with someone.
> 
> As always thank you for reading! I really enjoy interacting with people who read my writing, so please comment and let me know what you thought. All constructive comments welcome.
> 
> I hang out on twitter under @morgawse_hp if you'd like to connect, I usually tweet when I post something on here.


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